Three Fourths of a Year
by A Forgotten Lover
Summary: Ron tells his story over the course of less than a year. It's Harry/Ron slash but no lemons. Better than the summary by far. R&R!


**A/N: I hope you enjoy this. It has been a tremendous amount of work, and I started it last year (much to my horror now, as I finished it).**

**Disclaimer: I do not make a profit from any character of the Harry Potter universe.**

**Enjoy!**

**----**

I bet you never really knew that it was me that you loved. I don't know if you still do or not. You can pretend that it's not her you see, but me. I know it. At least, I think I do.

You thought perhaps by getting her you could erase me. But you can't, and you realize that now. She has my freckles, by blush, my hair. You tried to run away and hide, but all you did was succeed in finding more of me. Only, she's a girl.

You don't even talk to me like you used to. It's been a few years. The ring on your finger doesn't make a difference, to me or to you. Now it's just about work, or quidditch. That's probably not what you want to talk about, but hey, just keep hiding under your mask. You're going to have to take it off sometime.

-Sincerely, me.

-----------

It's Christmastime, and out of tradition and because you love it, you come to dinner at the Burrow. There are much too many people at the table, and we are all stuffed in the kitchen. I guess some people still think that even though we're friends, or something of the sort, it's alright for us to be squashed together in the corner without enough air for either of us.

You're awkward and stiff; I'm laughing and ignoring you.

I don't think people notice; they don't have the time, or space to. I reach over you to grab a glass from Hermione's hand and I can literally feel your discomfort, and I smile as I intentionally graze you with my arm.

Your blush isn't as pronounced as anyone in my family, but you do turn an admirable shade of pink. Almost like Malfoy, if he were ever to get sun burnt. I lean down to your ear and whisper sorry. I wasn't sorry, I doubt you felt offended. But you do have a bit of self pride, one of your more distinguishable faults, so naturally you were ruffled. You glare at me, and I laugh in your face.

After excusing yourself Hermione gives me a look. She rolls her eyes and I can tell that she wants to laugh, but instead she tells me that I have been rude. Of course I have; I know that _I've_ been rude, but yet, you still can't even admit that to yourself.

Ginny calls me over to go and get you from wherever you are. I almost want to yell in her face why she can't just get someone else to go and get you, but I don't. It's a giant family Party, after all; I don't want to start a giant family Argument. I know where you are. Actually, I don't, and I spend a few minutes looking in places that I think you're in, until I finally decide to go and look in Fred and George's room.

The room hasn't been cleaned since Fred died. I haven't been in the room in a few years myself, yet nothing has changed. It's almost like those time capsules, or whatever Hermione calls them. I could be in this room for hours or even a few moments and still feel like nothing happened, and that he wasn't gone. I shake the sobering thoughts out of my head and instead turn to your back. You're holding one of their toys, an earlier prototype of a great hit. I think you remember that time when Hermione got her 'black eye', because when you turn around you're still smiling. You're not anymore when you see me.

I don't smile. I can't in this room, but I still give you a grimace and a nod that indicates that you need to come downstairs. You give a look; it's not a glaring one, or even a happy one, it's one that I have never been able to understand. All I can say about it is that it's familiar, and that I see it from you often. You sense that you have the upper hand now, and walk by me; you don't look at me as you leave, and you don't turn around.

I don't follow you out. I never do come out of the room, and I know that people realize this when I walk down the stairs the next morning. They glance over at me pityingly and I just say hello and grab my pancakes. They don't know, and I think that no one does except maybe you, that I slept in Fred's bed last night. I suddenly missed him terribly, and I couldn't take it, so I had to stay. I even dreamed about him, and he talked about you; he was everywhere and nowhere at the same and there was even that veil that you said you could hear whispers from and we all thought you were cuckoo. I believe you about the veil.

--------

Its a few days after Easter and it's also yours and Ginny's fifth anniversary. I still cannot believe that it's been five years as I'm walking up to your door. When you opened the door, I want to laugh and joke with you about how funny you look with your hair _slightly_ tamed. It's not so crazy, but it's still you.

You have a large group again; a few of your friends, mostly the Weasley Clan, and a spatter of Ginny's friends. Hermione jokes to me about how she is seeing a glare from all the red hair. I don't blame her, and start to say something until I see you glance over. Again, though this time it's almost different. What I mean is that it's as if everyone has melted away, and you're at the other end of the room and I'm here, next to Hermione, and Mum, and Luna, Neville and George, and amidst all these people, but I'm alone.

I'm almost sweating now, and I loosen my collar, looking away from your green eyes that stare at me, that bore holes through my head. I hate you for your sudden realization that you can do this to me.

We don't talk all night, and I try not to look at you. Somehow people don't notice, or if they do, again they don't say anything; either way I'm glad as hell that people aren't bothering us. It's all working out so well until Mum brings out a cake. It's a cake like no other; being the fifth anniversary of so many things. It's been five years since that summer and we all want to forget, but this is a great reason to remember other things. George stands solemnly behind me as I stand right next to you. You're not as tense as that time during Christmas, but you can't help stiffening up just a little. Maybe it's become a habit of yours.

Anyways, after Mum brings out the cake, you blow it out, and still, without saying a word to you, I clap you on the back, smiling. You flush red, and give me a confused look, and so do other people in the crowd. I hit him too hard, I tell them, and they laugh, shaking it off. Hermione puts her hand on my shoulder and leaves it there, as we all cheer and whoop while you two blow out the candles. I'm not too sure if this cake needs candle blowing, because it's not really a birthday party, but whatever floats your boat.

I become suddenly conscious of her hand; it lingers and I want to brush it off but that would be rude. I can't quite get it off my mind and I'm not able to join into the cat calls and wolf whistles of you kissing Ginny like you were about to eat her face. I can feel my face drain white, and I'm swaying on my feet. I think I'm going to be sick. I cast a shaky smile at Hermione to tell her I'm fine and she looks at me, puzzled. Her eyes clear, and for a hollowing moment I think that she realizes something. Her eyes brim with tears, and again I get that feeling of hatred that you had to cause this for her; you caused upon Hermione, at a party, a dawning of an idea so unthinkable that it was possible. And I couldn't deny it to her.

Mum turns to her and is worried; she asks if everything is ok and I know it's not, most likely it never will be, but Hermione covers it well. It's just so cute, she says, sniffing, and then Mum starts up too, suddenly caught up in an emotion that she wouldn't understand, and doesn't realize.

--------------

It's your birthday.

You'd probably have to think that I'm clinically insane not to come. I wouldn't miss this for anything, and being your 22nd birthday, I would have to be a bigger jerk not to come. I've brought you a gift that you're going to think is quite stupid, but I loved it the moment I saw it.

Honestly though, I didn't _love_ it. I almost yelled and ran away from the room. I went inside Fred and George's shop. Not the one in Diagon Alley though, it's a different one that just opened up recently closer to our house. But this doesn't matter right now.

I guess, although I don't remember, we must have told Fred and George about the brains way back when we were in the Department of Mysteries. Terrible place. But if I could go back and visit it, I most certainly would. Only, not if we were afraid that You-Know-Who would pop out of the walls. Just for a little field trip. But back to my point. We must have told them about those brains. I shudder every time I see them, and now I have a miniature, but not harmful in anyway possible. I can't wait for you to see the effects though. They're wicked.

Your unease around me has eased a little, and yet you're still holding back. I know you've been trying to tell me something, but I just don't know; I can't figure out your stupid...I don't know. But I can't figure it out. But you invite us in with a smile, and I'm quite glad that the minute I walk in I'm not rendered deaf by relations, or smothered with hugs of people I have seen just last week. That doesn't mean that there aren't hoards of people here; oh, no there are. But, here was me hoping beyond hope that maybe Aunt Muriel wouldn't be here, yet, being her stupid old self, she is plopped on one of your best chairs looking over at me like I'm something to be found under her shoe. I give her a charming smile, and still she decides to shoot me another glance and turn to her equally nasty friend and laugh at something said about me.

Remind me to ask you later _why_ in Merlin's green pants you invited her. And don't give me any of that 'Weasley' crap.

How old is she anyways?

------

It's after your cake. I don't eat any because Mum made that kind that I especially hate; Orange Pumpkin. I still don't see how everyone was fawning over the cake, it isn't that great anyways.

Of course, Hermione wants to stay late, and after all the guests are gone, it's just us. Us meaning, naturally, Hermione, you, I, Luna, Ginny, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and for some reason, Malfoy. I am also going to ask you later on why you invited him. George stays because he has nothing else better to do.

We have quite a group here, and there's so many people talking all at once. Some one says something about a wedding last week. Some one else recounts a time in Double Potions where Snape said such-and-such, and another person laughs and comments on how that one time where there was something stuck in Hermione's hair and no one told her anything for a whole day. I say some things, but more or less I'm quiet.

I notice that Malfoy is very interested in what Hermione says, thinks, or does or anything moderately related to her. It makes me think that this might be why you've invited him, and I feel hurt that I wasn't included in this parcel of information that must have been obviously known. Thanks. After realizing this though, I feel stupid. And incredibly so. I send you an evil look when everyone is laughing and only Hermione catches it. She frowns and I hate you again for taking away her smile in a moment when we're supposed to be happy. When you say something next, it's about how we met on the train and that my nose was pink because Mum had been rubbing off a black smudge on it. George laughed and called me Ikle Ronniekins again, and I smiled; I hadn't heard that in a while, and was also somewhat pleased that you remembered something so insignificant.

The night continued on smoothly, until we realized that it was nearing 2 in the morning and that some of us had to go to work. Seamus and Dean got up right away, said goodbye, and apparated away. Luna, Neville, and George leave after a few minutes, leaving you, my sister, Hermione, Malfoy and me. What joy.

We stand and chat a bit more, but just until Ginny yawns. Contagious things, really. I yawn next, then you, and then Hermione and Malfoy collectively. We decide that finally its time for everyone to go home. Hermione and I start walking out the door, and Malfoy is a few paces behind us, behind Hermione. I get ready to apparate home, but you get a frantic look on your face and call me back, your voice strained. Ginny is walking upstairs; I can see her through a window that doesn't have the shades down. I tell Hermione to go on without me, and I ignore the fact that Malfoy is grinning.

I ask you why you called me back. You don't say anything at first, your eyes have confusion in them, and I am sure mine do too, because I have no idea what is going on.

Oh, you say, thanks for coming. I nod in response, a small smile forming. You nod too, clearly unsure of what you are supposed to be doing. I turn to go on home, but you put your hand on my shoulder. I'm sorry, you add, and you understand that there are no words to actually explain anything; there isn't anything to explain.

----------

When Hermione gets home, I am sitting in my room reading a book about something dull and uninteresting. Just goes to show that Hermione picks it up and claims that it is one of her favorites. She heads over to her room, smiling and humming to herself, and yet, I don't have a glimmer of jealousy. In fact, I am happy for her; even if that ferret makes me want to stab myself.

I get bored quickly, and decide to go to bed. For shits and giggles, sans the giggle part, I start thinking of when we were in Hogwarts. My mind contorts all those shared furtive glances, the stolen smiles, the raucous laughter, and the shared silences.

It's not me, it's you.

Hermione says that I say it wrong; I don't care for saying the Muggle movie clichés correctly. And plus, that phrasing of it isn't wrong. It's totally correct.

It's correct in so many ways that I have started to lose count. You drew away from me after Hogwarts. You hastened to marry Ginny. You fought with me when I found a girlfriend that I ended up leaving because everything you said about her was right. It wasn't the fact that you were right about her, by the way; it was that you yelled at me and never exactly told me why it bothered you. When I moved in with Hermione you were satisfied, but I was miserable. You seemed to take joy in that even more. Then, out of nowhere you ceased to talk to me. That was crushing, and I don't think you ever really understood how much that hurt. I could always talk to Hermione and Neville, and George sometimes, but it wasn't the same.

There are other reasons, but to remember those all would bring unnecessary thoughts into my head and I don't think I want that right now.

The light in the hallway goes out and I'm thinking that maybe I should just go to bed and stop thinking for a while.

-----

Hermione got an owl from Professor McGonagall to ask if she could come and teach just for a week. She should be back tomorrow, yet I feel an apprehension because I know that that means I have to go to the Platform to go and pick her up. At least she'll be home for Christmas break, but I don't feel like dealing with all the students who are also going to be at the Platform.

The second day she was gone I was bored. Absolutely bored. I even considered sending you an owl to inform you that I would be taking my life. After about a few minutes of logical thinking I decided that I would in fact not kill myself. I'd rather live, thank you very much.

I'm upstairs one day, fiddling with the muggle television set that Hermione insisted that we needed to have, when I hear a disturbance from downstairs. I think it is Draco because he is the only one that uses the Floo, but it's not him. I find this out when I call out to him, telling him that Hermione isn't here at the moment and that he should try again in a few days, or whenever it is that Hermione gets back. The response I receive shocks me into my seat, one of those muggle ones as well, that apparently goes in front of a computer? Anyways, when I hear, in fact, that Draco is not actually Draco, and really doesn't want to know when Hermione gets back or else he would have written a letter to Hermione himself, I am sitting in my seat with my jaw hanging open. It's in this embarrassing state that you find me sitting on the computer chair, but you laugh, saying Good Old Ron, you never really _have_ changed, have you. And I can't help but laugh along with you, thinking that this is absolutely ridiculous and wondering how on earth we came to be on almost on a no-talking terms.

I've missed you, I tell you, and you just smile painfully and I know that you have missed me too. I think we should start over, I say, while your uncomfortable smile falls away and you break into a large grin at the suggestion. And how should we do that? you ask. I think for a minute before answering. As friends. I say it again, relishing how it sounds, both on my tongue and on my mind. You say it too, and I almost want to tell you how much I have missed you, except I already have told you that.

You get up to leave, and I'm almost sad, but then I remember that there is nothing to be sad for; I have you now. In a few days, we decide, we will go separately to pick up Hermione from the Platform, and meet each other by chance and introduce ourselves, remarking on how we are meeting the same person.

You remind me, as you walk out the door, to leave a spot of _some_thing on my nose so it will be like a conversation starter. I have never been so excited for anything in so long.

Well, that Chudley Cannon's game doesn't count.

**A/N: FINALLY IT'S DONE. This had been one of my longest work in progresses and a particular pet story.**

**I hope you liked it, and please tell me what you think! PLEASE.**

**Thank you,**

**A forgotten Lover**


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